Soul of the Bes'bev
by Cinlat
Summary: There are times when the bonds of family are stretched to breaking. These moments either make a Mandalorian aliit stronger, or destroy it completely.
1. Duty Calls

**Bes'bev** , a traditional Mandalorian flute, was a weapon of elegance and beauty, though formidable in battle. At one end, it is cut to a sharp tip, similar to a quill stylus, and this bladed point made the instrument ideal for deep puncture wounds. Forged from beskar, it can also be hefted as a club should the need arise.

 **Summary:** There are times when the bonds of family are stretched to breaking. These moments either make a Mandalorian aliit stronger, or destroy it completely.

 **Rating:** M

 **Warnings:** Graphic descriptions of violence, mention of torture, and descriptions of torture.

 **Author's Note:** This story is loosely tied to Family Is More Than Blood. I wrote it nearly two years ago, and finally decided to edit it. The timeline is set somewhere between Tython and Rishi, and there might be a few minor discrepancies that I've chosen to overlook because I didn't want to lose them. Otherwise, I tried to make it fit in with the ongoing story as best as possible.

 **Duty Calls**

* * *

 **Ithor  
** **Honeymoon Suite  
** **09:00**

Fynta rolled over with the satisfied sigh. Maybe it was a little late for a honeymoon, but Aric had finally gotten his dream vacation on Ithor. They were on day three of a well-earned, two week vacation. Whereas the concept of a honeymoon might not be a part of Fynta's culture, she certainly didn't mind humoring her husband. Especially after he'd waited nearly a year for it.

Jorgan propped himself on an elbow and smiled down at Fynta. She couldn't help but laugh at the absolute cheesiness in it, such a rare state for the Cathar. Aric only wore that expression after one of his new tricks worked out better than he anticipated, and Fynta had never minded being his muse for new and exciting experiments in bed.

Fynta pulled the blankets to her shoulders and looked out the window behind Jorgan. He rolled onto his back to see what had grabbed her attention and sighed contentedly as his arm folded on the pillow behind his head. "Nice view, isn't it?"

Jorgan had called in a few old favors with some buddies from his time as ops commander to get them a room close to the ground. It even had a waterfall outside the window. No one was allowed on the surface of Ithor, of course, but a few of the pricier resorts offered rooms nestled just above the trees. What's more, Jorgan had managed to keep Fynta in the dark about their destination right up until they dropped out of hyperspace. The creative ways that he kept her from sneaking onto the bridge to snoop through the navisystem still made her smile.

"MmHm," Fynta muttered as she stretched, then folded her arms over his chest and propped her chin on her hands. "Outside's not bad either." She felt Aric's laugh rumble through his chest before she heard it. He'd been a different man here; relaxed and playful. Not at all the strict lieutenant she'd met on Ord Mantell. Once they were back on duty though, Fynta knew he would revert. Which was fine, she'd fallen for _that_ Aric Jorgan, the playfulness was a bonus.

"It's nice to get away," Fynta continued as his arm slid around her back. "And, I can't think of a more relaxing venue. You did good, riduur."

Aric's eye drifted shut, and a light smile touched his lips. He'd wanted this vacation for a while, and Fynta got the impression that this desire went further back than their discussion before Corellia. That this had always been the place he envisioned bringing his lifemate. As she studied her husband in this rare state of peace, Fynta realized that he looked younger. The patterns around his eyes and mouth smoothed into gentle curves instead of harsh lines of black against his golden fur. Maybe that's all he needed, a good shag and a vacation. The idea made her snicker, and he slid one gorgeous blue eye open. "What?"

"Just thinking." _That Vik might have been right all those years ago._ She wisely kept those words to herself, of course. The Weequay had never missed an opportunity to blame Jorgan's strict attitude on his lack of a sex life.

Both eyes opened, and Aric searched Fynta's face lazily before shutting them again. "You miss them yet?"

Fynta ran her fingers over Jorgan's chest, delighting in the contrast between soft and hard. They'd left the rest of the squad behind for the first time in nearly a year. Everyone had been so busy after the attacks on Korriban and Tython. Since they were just sitting on their hands waiting for Theron's call anyway, might as well take some time off.

"I'm sure their fine," Fynta answered, forcing her thoughts back to her squad mates. Vik had decided to stay on Nar Shaddaa while Yuun went home to visit. Dorne and Cormac were enjoying their time somewhere off the map too. "A little," Fynta finally admitted with a half-smile. She'd started drawing patterns in Aric's fur, and he huffed in annoyance when she snickered. "But, I'm in no hurry to get back. The war will still be there when we return."

Normally, that would be a depressing thought, but they were soldiers by nature. Without war, they were out of a job, and Fynta had no purpose. Being Mandalorian meant everything to her, but she doubted her brothers and sisters would welcome her back into the fold after more than a decade as a Republic soldier.

"I vote for ordering room service and skipping the play in favor of staying in bed," Aric stated as he stretched. Fynta had always found it to be an impressive sight, the way his muscles moved under the thin layer of fur that accentuated ridges usually hidden. "There's an encore tomorrow," he continued as he settled into the mattress again. "Besides, I've got plans for y—"

Jorgan's ears perked to a sound Fynta hadn't heard. Head tilted to the side, the Cathar cut his eyes at her while listening. She strained to catch the faint chirping of a device that shouldn't be on. With an annoyed grunt, Aric leaned over the side of the bed. He dug through the ramshackled sheets and came up with her personal comm. The one she'd left on in case of emergencies, and had completely forgotten about.

The device chirped again. They both stared at it. "I don't think they are going away," Aric groused, casting Fynta an accusatory glance.

Fynta swore and pulled on the first shirt she grabbed, which turned out to be Jorgan's, snatched the comm, and crossed the room to keep him out of the line of sight. "Wolfe," she answered in her most annoyed tone.

"Hey, doll," Balkar replied with a lopsided grin.

Fynta didn't even bother hiding her surprise. "Jonas? How did you get this frequency?" No one in her squad was foolish enough to give up her personal holo, not even Vik.

"SIS, remember?" Balkar answered. Jorgan raised a brow at Fynta from where he laid on the bed. "I've been trying to reach you for two days. Garza's not happy, by the way," Balkar continued. "I'm calling in that favor you owe me."

"Can it wait? We've only been on leave for three days." Fynta knew she sounded petulant, but damn it, Aric had worked hard to get them this suite. Not to mention, she was more than a little curious about what his plans had been. He'd wanted to see that play since it had been announced.

Jonas narrowed his eyes, his flirtatious demeanor slipping for a moment. "Yeah, sorry to interrupt—whatever you were doing." Fynta leveled him with a glare. Her hair was no doubt in shambles, and she clearly wore a man's shirt. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she'd been doing. "I've got ten dead SIS agents, and a rogue Mandalorian." He relaxed a little, smile slipping back into place. "I know who to call when Mandalorians are involved, I've got unrestricted access to your file now, remember?"

Fynta winced. It was her own fault, she'd requested a copy to give to Jorgan, and Balkar had been the only person she trusted to transmit the file. Besides, he'd been actively decrypting it for more than two years. He'd have unlocked it eventually. "Anyway, Garza loaned you out to me. So, if you could throw on that sexy armor and get your ass down here to Nar Shaddaa, I'd be much obliged."

Fynta made eye contact with Jorgan, cringing inwardly as that peace washed away before her eyes. "Do you need the entire squad?" She asked with a sigh. There really wasn't another option, Balkar had orders from General Garza.

"These people are your specialty, whatever you think you need." Balkar's tone took on a more serious note. "I really appreciate this, Fynta. Oh, and congratulations." Then, the call ended, leaving Fynta momentarily dumbstruck.

"You think he knows?" Aric asked, echoing her own thoughts.

Jonas was an exceptional SIS agent, and he'd accused Aric of having a thing for her once, but that still seemed like quite a leap. They'd been careful, no outward signs of affection in public. "Let's not assume, at the moment," she finally decided. "He could mean any number of things, the promotion, our success on Tython, even taking out Rakton. The SIS are like fortune tellers, they throw out little bits of information and wait for their victim to fill in the blanks." Fynta nodded sternly. "No, we'll act the same as always."

Aric climbed from the bed and crossed the room to kiss Fynta's forehead. He inhaled deeply, and she intentionally dropped her voice an octive. "So, what were those plans you had?"

The Cathar's eyes darkened. "I think we've got time for one of them."

 **Nar Shaddaa  
** **20:00**

Balic sat in a little dinner in the spaceport with Elara. At first, he had been annoyed by Fynta's call. Then again when he found out that she planned to leave Vik and Yuun out of it, effectively understaffing them. But, when she mentioned they'd be chasing down a Mandalorian who'd killed ten SIS agents, well, Cormac thought that sounded like fun. If they wrapped it up quickly, he and Elara could get back to their vacation, and he'd have some interesting new experiences.

To pass the time, Cormac watched the passersby while Elara researched varying ways of tracking down elusive Mandalorians. One Twi'lek in a business suit bumped a human who had been more interested in his conversation with the female Nautolan on his arm than his surroundings. The two men started yelling at one another until the female dumped her caf over the Twi'lek's expensive duds. It took three spaceport security guards to haul the two men apart, and the woman was arrested as an accomplice. Cormac chuckled as he thought back to the major's promise years ago that Nar Shaddaa would never be dull.

The bustling crowd parted further down the passage, and two figures in beskar'gam appeared in the gap. It didn't matter if their Havoc badges were showing or not, people here got out of the way. Cormac knocked on the table to get Elara's attention as the commanders drew closer to their table. "Hey, boss. How was your leave?"

"Short," Fynta answered. "I'd like to wrap this up quickly so I can get back to it."

"Where did you finally decide to go?" Elara asked without looking up from her datapad.

"Ithor," Jorgan answered, and Cormac thought the Cathar looked a little triumphant at having been able to keep their destination a secret.

Fynta flashed an endearing smile, one that made her look a lot more refreshed than she had last week. "How about you two?" she asked, picking at Elara's half eaten breakfast.

"Yes, sir," Elara nodded, moving the plate closer to the major.

His wife had yet to look up from that bloody device, so Balic peaked over the edge to see what had her so captivated. "Apartments?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Elara finally looked up, and her expression one of annoyance, rather than embarrassment. "I thought we might need a place away from the SIS to plan our operation." She scowled at the datapad again. "But, these prices are outrageous."

Cormac caught a meaningful glance pass between the commanders. "That's a good idea, Dorne," Fynta began. "But, let's hold off on that for the time being. Just until we get the details from Balkar." Jorgan usually tensed when someone said the SIS agent's name. Balic wasn't sure what had gone on between them, but the Cathar definitely didn't like the guy.

Elara had mentioned that the last time they'd met Agent Balkar the Slippery Slopes Cantina. This time, they were called directly into the official SIS office in the Republic Embassy. Balkar, a man Cormac had only seen from a distance or in holos, waited in the lobby. "Ah, Major!" The man had a dashing smile, great hair, smooth voice, and roguish charm. Cormac finally understand why the captain had taken an immediate disliking to him. He was everything Jorgan wasn't, and Elara warned Balic that Fynta had a tendency to match his wit.

"If it isn't my favorite woman in the galaxy." Balkar grabbed Fynta by the shoulders, still smiling. "We never did get those drinks, but now I'm hearing rumors that you're off limits?"

Fynta's eyebrow arched, but Cormac saw the way her shoulders stiffened. "Mind telling me who's been spreading rumors?"

"You know, here and there," Balkar answered with the dismissive wave. "Alright," he continued, clapping his hands before Fynta could argue.

Balkar ushered them into one of the side rooms and shut the door behind him. "Lieutenant Dorne, I hear congratulations are in order. This must be Balic." Cormac shook the proffered hand before Balkar continued. "I tell you, I'm in the wrong line of work. Looks like Havoc Squad is the place to be if you're lonely. Rumor has it there was something going on between Tavus and that Mirialan assassin of his. Of course, now we'll never really know." Cormac had met that woman face to face. He didn't see the attraction.

Fynta watched Balkar move about the room, getting stuff set up for their briefing, with a wary suspicion. Cormac had to remind himself that a friendly SIS agent was the most dangerous type. "Why did you really call me, Jonas?"

"Can't pull anything over on you, can I?" Balkar replied while he warmed up the holotable in the middle of the room.

Fynta crossed her arms. "SIS, remember?"

"So you were. I heard you picked up quite a few tricks from your time with us. You're CO wasn't happy about losing you. Best record in the squad." Jonas looked suitably impressed. "I'm assuming Cormac and Dorne are here because you trust them?"

Fynta nodded. "What are you playing at?"

"Meet your target." Balkar pressed a button on his datapad, and the image of a thin woman in red and black beskar'gam appeared on the table. Balkar watched Fynta intently, so he probably missed Cormac's moment of surprised recognition.

Fynta stepped closer to examine the image, her face could have been made from stone for all the emotion it displayed. Finally, she nodded. "Cinlat Ejnar." Balic had just recovered from his shock when it hit him all over again to hear the major name the culprit.

"So, you know her?" Balkar asked, tapping away on his datapad.

"Of course." Fynta walked a slow circle around the image of a woman holding out two long barreled blasters. "Adopted by the Mand'alore, winner of the Great Hunt, previously on the Republic's most wanted list, until the Chancellor announced that it had been a Jedi ploy." She stopped and looked Balkar in the eye. "Every Mandalorian worth their credits knows who she is." Fynta nodded towards Elara. "A lot of Imperials know her too."

"It's true, sir. I was responsible for monitoring her activities during my early career with the Imperial military," Elara added. Cormac finally caught on and leaned against the wall to avoid drawing attention to himself. Subtlety wasn't high in his skillset. It would be best to let the women handle this one.

"I wonder what she's doing on Nar Shaddaa," Fynta mused, and Cormac bet that one was an honest question.

Balkar looked a little deflated by Fynta's logical explanation, but plowed forward with the briefing. "We're not sure. She and another, a male of unidentifiable species, broke into a warehouse where we had a sting operation set to take down the Black Sons responsible for smuggling in implants for slave collars."

Balkar pulled up an image of Cinlat's accomplice. "Do you recognize him?"

"His armor looks familiar," Fynta hedged. "I'd heard that she finally got married a few years back."

"Hmm," Balkar scanned through his datapad. "Our intel doesn't have anything about that—nothing official, at least."

Fynta shook her head, braid slapping against her pauldron. "Mandalorians don't need a piece of paper to commit their lives to one another. They have their own customs." She used _they_ and _Mandalorians_ a lot. Cormac realized that she was setting herself apart, distancing her involvement.

"Think you can track them down?" Balkar asked.

"I can. On one condition." Fynta held up a hand to stop the agent's complaint. "You let my squad and I handle this _our_ way. No SIS involvement."

"Fine." Balkar agreed too quickly for Balic's comfort. "But, I get access to visual and audio feeds while you're on the mission." He flashed a rakish smile. "I certainly don't want it when you're off duty anymore."

Fynta actually laughed, but Jorgan didn't look amused. "Deal. Starting tomorrow. My team and I need to plan, and I have people to contact who might be able to expedite this process." She paused. "Are you wanting the targets neutralized or captured?"

Cormac held his breath, wondering if Fynta would really be able to pull the trigger on her brother and his wife. Balkar considered for a moment. "As much as I'd like to place her head on a pike, I think my boss wants her for questioning."

"You do realize Mandalorians aren't likely to break under torture, right?" Fynta commented offhandedly, and it sounded to Balic a lot like she was pressing for the neutralize option. "They train from a young age to resist physical and mental punishment."

"Right," Balkar held up a finger. "But, _she_ wasn't raised Mandalorian, was she? Escaped pit fighter is what I have in my notes. So, she's tough, but not _trained_."

"If that's her husband," Fynta nodded towards the holo of her brother, "he would have trained her. It's the only decent thing to do given the line of work they're in."

Balkar stared blankly at Fynta. "No shit?" Cormac was pretty sure that his expression mirrored the SIS agent's, and Aric looked appalled. Fynta and Elara were the only ones in the room who seemed immune to the idea of a man torturing his wife for her own good. That said a lot about that the kind of women Cormac found attractive. Dorne was a lot harder case than he'd given her credit for.

Eventually, Balkar found his voice again. "That's not up to me. Try to bring her in alive, but don't get yourself killed in the process. You still owe me one more favor."

They settled on mission specific details, and Havoc filed out into the busy promenade with a massive golden Hutt in the middle. The thing reached from the floor to the ceiling, and Cormac couldn't believe that looters hadn't chiseled chunks out of it.

"Haar'chak!" Fynta swore. She looked at Jorgan, her expression livid. "No choice. I don't trust Balkar to honor our deal."

The Cathar glanced at Balic and Elara before nodding. "I don't think it'll be a problem."

Fynta pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Let's hail a cab. We have a long night ahead of us."

Balic had never given much thought to what it might be like to work in the SIS, but so far, it seemed a lot like the holovids. They switched taxis five times, doubling back twice, until Fynta was finally satisfied that they'd lost the tail that no one else had made. "Sneak bastard," she grumbled. "Should've known better."

The cab came to stop on a personal speeder pad, and Fynta went to the driver's window. She laid her blaster against the window and offered the driver triple the amount. "For your trouble."

The guy glanced at the blaster, then nodded. "Much obliged, this'll go a long way towards that medication for my memory problems."

"Good man." Fynta tapped the top of the cab, and he zoomed off into the dark skyline. When Cormac turned to see where they were, Jorgan already had his hand pressed to a biometric scanner. Fynta swept past when the door opened, and Cormac followed her into a smartly decorated sitting room. The major stopped in the center of the room and spread her arms. "Welcome to my best kept secret, guys."

Cormac stood on the top step to take it all in. "So, _this_ is where you both disappear to whenever we have leave." It had a cozy kitchen-sitting area, a big fireplace—for an actual fire, artwork from around the galaxy, and some of the most comfortable looking couches he'd ever seen. There were even stairs that led down to a private balcony. "Nice"

Elara wandered around the main area, examining the artwork and nodding with approval. "I thought you had a safe house on this planet," she commented as she stopped to take a closer look at the big painting of a guy holding a steel sword. "It's quite lovely, sir."

"Yeah, pretty selfish of me, I know." Although, Fynta didn't look the least bit ashamed. "This place is completely tricked out. Nearly unsliceable."

"How?" Elara asked, tearing her gaze from the image.

Fynta chuckled. "Old tech. Really old. Everything from jammers to one way tinting on the windows. The lower the tech, the more efficient on a planet like this."

"Fascinating." As if on cue, the datapad reappeared in Elara's hand, and Fynta and Cormac grinned at one another.

"Make yourselves at home. You can have the spare room since Cinlat and Verin bought a place out on Tatooine. They won't be needing it." Fynta's tone changed as she stomped over to an old holopad in the corner of the room and typed in a signal that had to be encoded three times.

Aric leaned against the kitchen counter. "This should be interesting." Balic settled on the barstool to see what Jorgan was talking about. Eventually, Elara joined them.

Verin answered on the third ring. "Fynta, now's not a good time." Then, it vanished.

Jorgan took a deep breath. "Uh, oh."

Fynta growled and typed the numbers in again. "Listen, vod'ika, I really don't have time rig-"

"Make time," she spat, cutting her brother off. "Havoc Squad has been called to Nar Shaddaa." Fynta said it in that calm voice that alleged she had seriously considered shooting something.

Verin stared at Fynta in silence, jaw working furiously before deciding that a lie wouldn't fly this time.

"Fierfek."


	2. Safe Haven

**Safe Haven**

* * *

 **Nar Shaddaa Safehouse**  
 **01:00**

Jorgan had never seen Fynta like this. She shouted at her brother via holo in a stream of Mando'a too quick for Jorgan to translate. Every now and then, Fynta would pace away from Verin with hands on hips, only to stomp back with a whole new string of insults. The few words Jorgan _could_ pick up being enough to know that she wasn't pulling any punches.

Verin's rage was no less explosive, and Cormac chuckled a couple of times when spittle spewed from the man's lips. They pointed, stomped feet, and made more than one vulgar hand sign at one another. At one point, Verin fell silent, breathing heavily and face red with anger. Jorgan wondered what might have happened if they'd met in person to discuss this, instead of over holo.

Eventually, Verin stormed out of the image to be replaced by Cinlat. Jorgan heard Cormac suck in a breath. He had been unable to join them on the surface of Tython, and had missed the opportunity to meet the hunters in person after their rescue. Cinlat's countenance was enough to take anyone's breath away. The huntress wore her age well, white eyes glowing in the transmission. The effect was made all the more striking by the equally light hair that tumbled in curls over her shoulders.

"You two done yet?" Cinlat asked dryly, crossing her arms as she stared at Fynta. She still wore her beskar'gam with both rippers held fast in hip holsters. Despite her small size, the woman gave off an air of danger. From what Jorgan had learned from Fynta, Cinlat had grown up on Hutta in the fighting pits. She had three jagged scars down the left half of her face care of a half-starved Cathar competitor. According to Fynta, the huntress refused to talk about that part of her life, but that hadn't kept them all from wondering how such a small woman had defeated a crazed, male Cathar. One thing Jorgan knew for sure, though. While Cinlat might not be Mandalorian by birth, she was no less a threat.

Seeing the way Cinlat glared at her husband as he stalked in and out of the shot in the background, Jorgan wondered about the information Fynta had revealed during their briefing with Balkar. A chill ran down his spine at the idea of Verin ever raising a hand to Cinlat. Jorgan wasn't sure he believed that Verin capable of torturing Cinlat, even if he thought it in her best interest. The man clearly adored his wife. Not to mention, Cinlat would probably shoot him.

"Cinlat. Make the di'kut understand," Fynta pleaded, reverting to basic temporarily, before the two began another round of robust insults.

Elara stood on the other side of Cormac, a pleasant smile on her lips. When he gave her an inquisitive nudge, she sniggered. "This reminds me of Aleksei and myself as children. We fought horribly. My father often threatened to send us to the Sith should we exasperate our mother further."

"I can't imagine that," Balic smirked, earning himself a gentle elbow from his wife. The big man's eyebrows suddenly lifted as he tipped his head towards the arguing siblings. "Wait, do you actually understand all of this?"

Elara nodded. "Most. I've been taking lessons from the major."

"Care to clue us in?" Jorgan asked. He had been resistant to learning Mando'a; the words felt wrong in his mouth. Taking a Mandalorian as his lifemate was bad enough, however, adhering to the culture that nearly wiped out his race felt like crossing an invisible line. Granted, he didn't feel bad about the armor. His beskar'gam was well worth any scorn he might receive from other Cathar.

"Well," Elara began. "Mostly, they are just insulting one another, very creatively, I might add. Verin feels Fynta has no right to chastise him, as he is the elder brother. Yet, Fynta claims him to be a—ah, well, that he had no right to drag her into this mess by killing Republic personnel."

Cormac wrapped an arm around his wife with a smile. "I'm guessing they're using the big kid words now."

"Quite," Dorne responded. "Mando'a is such an efficient language." She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, and both men shared a confused glance. "I believe there was some mention of an incident involving a strill. And, Verin's outrage that she would dredge the occurrence up again." Dorne stopped short, both eyebrows raised. "Oh, my. That wasn't nice at all. I'm concerned Fynta might seek physical reparation for that one."

Cormac guffawed, then snapped his mouth shut before he could draw Fynta's wrath too. "So, they're just having your average roe between siblings?"

"It does sound more serious when yelled in Mando'a, I'll admit," Dorne agreed.

"Verin, ne'johaa!" Cinlat finally demanded over her shoulder. The woman had spent the bulk of the time rubbing her temples while the siblings screamed and flailed about. "Same goes for you, Fynta. Shut up and listen."

Fynta crossed her arms and paced two steps from side to side, but she kept her mouth shut. Jorgan wondered absently if Cinlat would be willing to teach him that trick, or whether he'd ever be capable of muzzling his wife the way the huntress had. Cinlat clearly held the rank of alpha in their small pack. While both Verin and Fynta still glared daggers at each other, they remained silent.

"We were hired to steal the chips _back_ from the Black Sun," Cinlat explained calmly. "There was no mention of a SIS sting, and we didn't realize it until Verin found the wire on one of the non-implanted agents. The hut'uun who hired us only admitted to knowing about it _after_ we—questioned him. Apparently, he was an Imperial broker under orders to get the best deal for their money."

Elara sucked in a breath. "That's barbaric. He had them attack the agents because he knew the Black Sun would charge a higher price for the chips than the bounty hunters for their services."

"Was?" Fynta asked before Jorgan could be truly horrified by Dorne's revelation.

"I might have acted rashly," Cinlat replied, leveling Fynta with a meaningful look.

Fynta scrubbed both hands over her face. "Haar'chak," she hissed again. That word wasn't one she used very often, though Jorgan understood the connotations. After a few minutes of muttering, she dropped her hands with a resigned sigh. "I'm supposed to bring you in alive."

"Hmm, dead would have been better," Cinlat admitted. Verin threw his hands up and stormed out of holo range. Something crashed in the background, and Cinlat rolled her eyes.

"I gave it a go, but they want revenge, not a quick clean up," Fynta added, both women ignoring the continued crashing out of view. "We need a plan that won't end my career or get you killed."

Verin appeared in the shot to whisper in Cinlat's ear. She nodded, then looked back at Fynta. "Well, hell, we've got to move. I'll give you twenty-four hours before next contact, then we discuss options. As of right now, I've got two: We go on the run— _again_. Or, I turn myself in and hope all those holos about crooked judiciaries aren't true."

"It'll be torture if you go in, Cinlat," Fynta stated, her tone emotionless. Jorgan watched her body language carefully, noting the tension that entered her posture. Even Cormac and Dorne had taken on more subdued countenances.

"I know," Cinlat answered. Though her expression remained serious, her voice sounded reassuring. "We'll talk soon." The holo ended, leaving Fynta to stare at the blank wall behind it.

Jorgan approached his wife, finally realizing why she'd pushed so hard for a neutralization op. "You were planning to fake her death, weren't you?"

"An old trick Cin learned from a former business partner." Fynta waved her hands at nothing in particular and puffed air through her bangs. "Not that it matters now. If we take that route, they'll examine the body and figure it out."

"Not if it's fragmented," Cormac suggested. He'd leaned back in his chair with elbows propped on the bar behind him. "Nothing to examine if there's nothing left."

Fynta shook her head. "A bomb's a little overkill for a _capture live_ mission. It would look suspicious." Though, Jorgan knew Fynta had considered it too. She started pacing, a habit she'd picked up from him. Normally, Fynta was more subdued on missions where the shit hit the fan before the op even started. However, this whole business with the bounty hunters had her rattled.

Aric gave his wife's shoulder a squeeze and went into the kitchen to see if there was anything edible left over from their last visit. All he found were a few bags of beans and a powder that would turn into broth when added to water. It was as good a meal as any, something he felt qualified to cook, anyway.

By 04:00, Cormac had stretched out on the couch and fallen asleep. Elara sat on the floor with her back leaned against it, typing on her datapad, then sighing irritably when her calculations didn't add up. Jorgan doubted she'd take a break anytime soon. Fynta had spent the last two hours exhausting her contact list, but no one wanted to get involved.

Fynta stalked back into the room with a growl of frustration. "Something doesn't sit right with me."

Jorgan and Dorne looked up at the same time, but Elara voiced their mutual question first. "How do you mean?"

"Everyone has suddenly found better work or retired from the game. I'm betting they're being paid off. I just don't know why or by who." Fynta paced the room, her face twisted in a scowl. Jorgan grabbed her hand as she passed the chair he'd claimed. She allowed herself to be pulled into his lap with a sigh.

"It wouldn't be the first time that Cinlat was targeted," Dorne added. Grey eyes flicked towards them briefly before returning to her datapad. Jorgan usually avoided such overt acts of affection in front of the squad. However, they were technically still on leave, and Elara and Balic their guests, not squadmates.

"She's made a lot of enemies in both Imperial and Republic space," Dorne continued, then held out her datapad. "I found this."

Fynta leaned forward to accept the device and held it so that Jorgan could read too. "A bounty?" She remarked as her eyebrows jumped. "Wow, an old one."

"Yes, by at least ten years," Dorne nodded. She waved for her datapad back and swiped a finger across the screen. "It would seem the conditions and payout have changed only recently, though. The benefactor is anonymous."

"I need to talk to Cin and see if she knows who posted it originally." Fynta leaned against Jorgan's chest. Her arm had just settled across his shoulders when suddenly she leapt to her feet. Jorgan wasn't far behind, having heard the speeder that touched down on the patio outside.

Dorne elbowed Cormac, who came awake with a snort, then handed him a blaster. Fynta and Jorgan took up position on either side of the door. He held her Verpine, while Fynta carried an interesting blade that looked more like a musical instrument than weapon. Jorgan met her eyes, muscles tensing as she counted down for the attack. The door opened, and both sprang into action.

"Shab, Fynta, it's me!" Verin held his hands out towards the leveled blaster in Jorgan's hands. Fynta had her arm around his neck, and the tip of the blade against his ribs. Verin's back arched away from the weapon, leaving him unbalanced in her grasp.

Fynta released her brother with a shove. Verin stumbled forward, then turned to see what had been jammed against his side. "Is that buir's bes'bev?" She looked at the weapon in her hand before tossing it to him. Verin caught it, then blew a tune that Jorgan didn't recognize, and let out a humorless laugh. "Ha, it still works. Helps that it isn't clogged with blood anymore, I guess."

"Verin?" Fynta commented expectantly, clouting his ear. Jorgan ensured that the Verpine was pointed in a safe direction when Verin bustled further into the room. "What were you thinking coming here?"

"They've got her, Fyn'ika. They nabbed Cinlat." Verin answered as he flopped into the chair Jorgan had vacated and dropped his head into his hands. "We were changing safe houses, and a shabbing jetii jumped us."

Fynta pulled the curtain to the side to look out the window, making sure her brother hadn't been followed. She met Jorgan's gaze, and he knew she was about to do something stupid. He hoped she'd at least tell him what it was before hand so that he could form a contingency plan.

Jorgan followed Fynta into their room to confirm that she'd grabbed her armor, then returned to the sitting area in time to hear the last bit of Verin's story. The man looked up as Jorgan rounded the corner, and he realized for the first time that the bounty hunter was bleeding. "Your first aid kit, sir?" Dorne requested with a worried glance at their guest. Jorgan nodded towards a cabinet in the kitchen, and the medic hurried to gather the required items.

The sound of muted conversation drifted out of the main bedroom, then Fynta emerged snapping on her chest plate. "I'm going to see if they'll let me sit in on the interrogation. That was Balkar delivering the news."

"I'll come with you." Jorgan made to squeeze past towards their room, but Fynta stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"No, I need you here and available to move if I call." Fynta's hand moved to his chest as she met his confused gaze. "I can handle the SIS, it's what I'm trained for." They stared at each other a moment before Jorgan finally conceded with a stiff nod. He hated when she went in alone, especially given the stakes, but knew there was little he could do to stop her.

Fynta patted Jorgan's cheek before turning to the rest of the room. "I'll call if I need you."

Cormac, now fully awake, had one hand on Verin's shoulder. The big man looked up at Fynta with a hard expression so seldom seen on his jovial face as to be shocking. "Go get our girl back."


	3. Heritage

**A/N:** Editing post migraine, be gentle.

 **Heritage**

* * *

 **SIS Headquarters  
05:00  
(One Hour in SIS Custody)**

"All we're asking for is the person who hired you to take out those men. You help me out, and I'll help you," Tramao said. The Rattataki interrogator squatted in front of their prisoner, forcing her to look at him with his fingers tangled in her hair.

Agent Balker stood against the wall with his arms crossed. Cinlat Ejnar, collar of the century, was every bit the stuff of legend. "I told you," she spat, sweat dampened strands of white hair clinging to her cheeks. "Some Imperial broker hired me to lift the chips off the Black Sun. He said they were stolen, _Imperial_ property. I didn't know they were SIS."

Balkar stroked his chin as he watched. Cinlat was surprisingly calm for a woman who had taken that kind of beating. Tramao wasn't known for being a gentle questioner, and Balkar wondered if Fynta hadn't been right about the training. If so, then where was her husband? The bounty hunter held fast to the claim that she'd worked alone, regardless of the footage they'd shown her of the male.

"And where is this broker?" Tramao asked. He twisted his wrist, tightening his grip in an effort to get an emotional response from the woman.

Cinlat glared at her captor through eerily backlit eyes. "I shot him."

"Convenient," Tramao sighed. The Rattataki stood, letting Cinlat's head drop forward again. He slowly removed his jacket and hung it over the chair. The prison tattoos on his forearms and biceps told the tale of a man who'd joined the SIS in an effort to stay out of trouble, not because he felt patriotic.

The door opened enough for Fynta to slip in. Balkar kept an eye on her through his peripheral, curious to whether or not she felt any loyalty towards Cinlat through their shared heritage. If so, the major didn't let on. Balkar finally turned his head towards her when she took up position next to him. "Where's Captain Fluffy?" He asked softly. Tramao did a good impression of looking intimidating. Unfortunately, his audience of choice had yet to raise her head. Cinlat simply didn't care what he planned to do to her.

Though Balkar couldn't prove it, the agent was fairly certain there was something going on between Fynta and her ever present Cathar bodyguard. The guy had clearly developed a hard-on for her years ago, but Balkar couldn't be sure if he'd ever acted on it. From what he had read in Fynta's file, she wouldn't have thought twice.

"Cathar and Mandalorians don't get along," Fynta answered, eyes set on their prisoner. "She'd shut down completely if I brought him in here."

Balkar nodded and turned his attention back to the interrogation. "He paid you, right?" Tramao continued, wrapping a cloth around his knuckles and flexing his fingers. "Shooting your clients isn't usually your MO."

"He lied to me and used me," Cinlat answered in a tight voice. "I take that personally, and I don't kill Republic soldiers unless I have to."

Tramao thin eyebrows shot up. He squatted again, taking hold of Cinlat's curly locks so that he could study her face. The barest hint of discomfort flitted across the woman's face as her shoulders tightened from the awkward way they'd been secured. The Rattataki threw a meaningful glance over his shoulder, and Balkar nodded. "So, what?" he continued with a disbelieving snort. "Now you're on our side?"

"I'm not on anyone's side," the huntress growled. "But, I've worked with a few Republic Soldiers. Decent guys for the most part, and we have an understanding." Cinlat lifted her freaky white eyes and offered a bloody smile. "That sometimes extends to SIS."

Balkar stepped forward to ask the next question. "Who are these soldiers?" Sure, nabbing Cinlat was great, but what she eluded to could be counted as treason. Republic Soldiers working with Imperial bounty hunters posed a big problem.

"Too many to count," Cinlat answered, forcing her head up further to look at Balkar.

"Sure." Tramao back handed her again, and Cinlat fell quiet. Fynta touched Balkar's arm and nodded for him to follow her outside.

As soon as the door shut, Fynta started in on Balkar. "I _told_ you she wouldn't break under torture." Balkar shrugged, but before he could respond that they had to start the interrogation before Cinlat's male managed to free her, Fynta continued, "Let me try."

Balkar felt his eyebrow raise, then cleared his expression for the flirty one that had always worked on Fynta in the past. "Planning some super, secret Mando technique?" Fynta's eyes narrowed, and he forced a cheerful laugh. "Hey, just kidding, doll. You heard the woman, she shot the guy who hired her. It's a dead end. We'll lock her up and be done with it." After a few more questions, of course. Cinlat probably knew a lot of valuable information about the Empire that the SIS could benefit from. But, Fynta didn't need to know that.

"Wouldn't you rather know for sure?" Fynta's voice held none of the flirtiness from their previous meetings, and he wondered if she had more at stake in this mess than she was letting on. _I've worked with a few Republic soldiers before._ Cinlat's words took on new meaning as Balkar stared at the woman in front of him. "If we don't look into this, it could come back to bite us," Fynta continued.

"You think you can crack her?" Fynta nodded, offering a flirtatious grin. Call it morbid curiosity, but Balkar wanted to see where this went. He waved a hand for her to pass. "Fine. Let's see what you've got. I can stall her processing for a couple of weeks, maybe." If his hunch was correct, he couldn't leave Fynta to her own devices, though.

"One condition," Balkar called out as Fynta turned back towards the room. "I get full access to everything you find, and one of my agents accompanies your team."

Fynta scowled, lips pressed together. Just when Balkar thought she'd decline, the major turned and stalked back into the room. "Beat it," she said with a jerk of her thumb.

Tramao walked past, wiping his hands on a cloth. "She's a tough one. Good luck."

Balkar grabbed the door to the interrogation room as it shut. He wanted to hear what Fynta said to the bounty hunter. By the time he pulled the door closed behind him, Fynta had taken up Tramao's position in front of Cinlat. She spoke in Mando'a, and Balkar grumbled internally that the Republic had such a limited database on the language.

Cinlat raised her head slowly, then spat in Fynta's face. "Aruetii."

Fynta wiped the impressive glob of saliva away and muttered something else. Whatever she'd said got Cinlat's attention, and the two women stared at each other for a solid minute. Finally, the bounty hunter nodded her head and answered with one word. "Tatooine."

Fynta pushed to herself upright. "I'll take care of it."

 **Nar Shaddaa Safehouse  
05:45**

Verin stood at the tinted window, staring out over the neon lit moon. Cinlat was out there, he even knew where, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Verin saw Aric in the reflection of the one way glass. The Cathar approached carefully, making only enough noise to avoid startling him. Aric stepped next to him in silence, a cup of caf held out by way of greeting. Verin accepted the drink with an appreciative nod, and the two men looked out over the brightly colored landscape in silence.

All things considered, the caf wasn't half bad, although Verin felt guilty enjoying such a simple pleasure while Force knew what was happening to his wife. He rolled the bes'bev in his free hand, caressing the familiar notches and grooves to calm his nerves. Verin had never been good at inaction, a trait he and his little sister shared. Fynta, at least, had luck on her side.

"Mind if I ask a question?" The Cathar's voice rumbled through the silence in a way that made Verin twitch. He'd had his fair share of alien encounters, but Cathar had always been off limits. Now, he had one in his aliit. It still boggled the mind when he thought about it.

"Ask anything you like," Verin answered. "We're family now."

"What is that?" Aric tipped his head towards the flute in Verin's hand. "I've never seen anything like it."

Verin couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up his throat. "No, I imagine you wouldn't have." When Aric raised a questioning brow, Verin instantly scolded himself. This man was good to his sister, and a skilled warrior who'd chosen to take on the insanity that qualified the Wolfe-Ejnar family.

Clearing his throat, Verin started again. "It's called a Bes'bev." He handed the musical weapon to the Cathar, who studied it intently. "It's a melee weapon that doubles as a flute. Or, the other way around, depending on your mood. This one belonged to our mother."

Jorgan's ears twitched when he looked up. "I thought buir meant father."

"It means both." Verin accepted the bes'bev back from Aric and allowed himself a small smile. "Our father used to play it, since mom was a lousy musician. But, this," he waggled the flute in front of Aric, "has been in her family for generations. She would have passed it down to Fynta when she was old enough."

Setting the half empty cup of caf aside, Verin held the bes'bev two handed. "My father used to compare this with our mother. He told me to find a woman who bore all the attributes of the Bes'bev. Let her be hard as beskar, deadly in a fight." Verin demonstrated the proper thrusting technique when used as a weapon. "But, gentle enough to make your life beautiful in the darkest hours." He blew a long, low note that had always given him chill bumps. Judging by the shiver that ran through Jorgan, he wasn't the only one.

"It sounds like your father was a wise man," Aric commented. Given that Verin's father tended towards the drunken end of the spectrum, wise might be on the generous side. He was a _solid_ man, though. Someone who ensured his family never went without.

Verin chuckled and turned the flute over to examine the engravings. "Buir had his moments. He called it the _Soul of the Bes'bev_." Verin sighed and looked out over Nar Shaddaa again. "He'd have liked Cinlat."

"Fynta said that Mandalorians are trained to resist most forms of torture from an early age." Verin gave the man props for not beating around the bush. Then, Aric slid those cold, blue eyes in his direction. "And, that if a man married a woman who isn't from his culture, then it fell to him to teach her."

Verin took a deep breath and cursed the memories that surfaced without bidding. "She's not wrong." His answered came out as a snort of contempt, but he figured Aric deserved to know. "Cinlat was a pit fighter, already tough as nails when I met her. But, when she told about the time one of her crew was lured into a trap—her lack of experience in that area became apparent. _He_ was Mando'ade, but the situation troubled her." Verin kept his eyes straight, but the neon lights couldn't hide the vision of his wife's battered features, the feel of her blood on his knuckles, or the scream echoing through the ship when she finally broke. These things were burned into his mind.

"I did my duty as a husband," Verin stated flatly. He was desperate to hide just how deeply those weeks troubled him. "It's a dangerous life we live." He left off that generally speaking, the rule went the other way too. Had Aric not been a soldier, it would have been Fynta's responsibility to ensure that he could hold his own.

"She consented?" Aric asked, doing a remarkable job of keeping the judgement out of his voice.

Verin wasn't as tall as Aric, but he had a solid and could hold his own. He squared his shoulders and faced the Cathar. "Does that really surprise you?"

Aric stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Not really, it's what Fynta would have done." A strange tension bled out of Verin at the knowledge that Aric believed him. That he didn't get off on beating women.

Verin covered the moment with a forced chuckle. "You know my sister better than I thought." He wondered if Aric would have the will to do something of the sort if Fynta asked him, to purposefully injure her in preparation for the future. _Probably not_ , he decided. Cathar males might be warriors, but they viewed their mates in a different light than Mandalorians. Not to mention, Aric Jorgan clearly had a strong protective streak in him.

Verin was on the verge of asking what sort of conditioning SpecForce soldiers went through when Aric's wrist comm chirped. _"Meet me at the Thunderclap, I've got a lead."_

The two men shared a brief look before Aric responded. "On our way." Verin spun around to collect him armor and weapons. He grabbed a few hidden weapons that he'd stashed in the apartment, and bet that Fynta never knew about. All the while, only one thought ran through his mind. _On our way, Cin._


	4. Ruses & Candor

**Ruses & Candor**

* * *

 **The Thunderclap  
** **06:46  
** **(Three Hours in SIS Custody)**

"Hey, not bad," Verin remarked as they entered the hangar where the Thunderclap sat. "That thing as roomy as it looks?" The bounty hunter radiated energy on a level that rivaled Fynta. Jorgan sympathized with the man. He clearly worried about his wife, but forced a cheerful facade for reasons Jorgan would never understand. Cormac did the same when he was nervous, whereas Fynta fought back with snark, and Dorne with research. Aric wondered if he had a coping mechanism, then remembered his reputation for being a hardass.

"Not with a full squad," Jorgan answered, deciding it was best to drop his previous line of thinking.

Cormac walked on the other side of Verin, casting plaintive glances at his wife. "She hasn't put that bloody thing down since we got here," he whispered, thumbing at the woman in question. All three men turned to examine the medic, then quickly looked away when her brow furrowed at the screen. "Sometimes, I think she loves it more than me."

"What's she looking for?" Verin asked in equally low tones. He and Cormac had hit it off instantly, so much so that Jorgan had the suspicion that this wasn't the first time they'd spoken. He'd always wondered who Balic's mystery contact was on Corellia, and how the bounty hunters had gotten the schematics for Fynta's leg so easily for Dorne to study.

Cormac offered an apologetic shrug. "Any loopholes to get Cinlat out of the pen, but I don't think it's going well." The big man leaned around to catch Jorgan's eye. "Speaking of which, Fynta says we've got something?"

"Why don't we find out." Jorgan nodded to where Fynta stood at the bottom of the ramp with hands on hips. He'd seen that stare before, the one that made it look like she wanted to murder her boots.

"Uh-oh," Cormac murmured, verbalizing Jorgan's concern. "I wonder who she shot."

Verin stopped in front of his sister, his carefully crafted façade slipped, and Jorgan saw real worry on his face. "Something troubling you, Fyn'ika?" The man's voice barely shook, and Jorgan realized that Verin was just another husband. Mandalorian or not, he wanted his wife back, safe and unharmed, no matter how tough he knew her to be.

"Cinlat's holding up," Fynta answered with eyes only for Verin. "They haven't gone too hard on her, just a little smack here and there." Verin breathed a sigh of relief, certainly not the reaction Jorgan had expected. "Don't celebrate too soon," Fynta continued. "We are going to have an extra passenger. Master Notiac Carlo."

Silence followed Fynta's revelation until Dorne looked up, distracted from her datapad in favor of the more immediate question. "Why are the Jedi interested in Cinlat?"

Verin snorted. "That's a long story. One I thought we had sorted when the Chancellor cleared Cin's name."

"Does this have to do with your stint on the Republic's most wanted list?" Fynta asked, arms crossed over her chest. Verin mirrored her stance in defiance of the accusation. Cormac snickered, then coughed to cover it. Even Jorgan had to admit that seeing the two together had explained a lot about Fynta's personality. Verin was equally stubborn and twice as foul mouthed as his sister.

"Master Carlo is the one who apprehended Cinlat," Fynta explained. Verin tensed instantly, his fists balling against his legs. Fynta ignored the way one of those hands drifted towards his blaster. "She is accompanying us on Balkar's orders to flesh out who is really responsible for the attack on the SIS agents."

The major kept her attention on Verin. "Do you understand what this means?"

"Yeah," he replied and slammed his helmet on before stomping up the ramp.

"Sure, make yourself at home," Fynta muttered at his back. After taking a deep breath, she returned her attention to the others. "I need everyone to help me make sure he doesn't attack her."

Cormac slapped Fynta's shoulder as he passed. "We'll keep him in order, boss."

Jorgan waited until the others vanished inside before asking his question. "Honeymoon's over, I take it?" He'd mentioned the idea of going public once or twice, but Fynta had been hesitant. She worried about recriminations that went beyond their careers, and he hadn't pushed.

"Unfortunately," his wife sighed. "We're going to have to be careful with a Jedi around. Especially one that we know nothing about. And, she can't know about Verin, either."

Jorgan nodded, squeezing Fynta's upper arm. He considered leaning in to kiss her forehead, but stopped when he remembered the cameras in the hangar. "I'll move enough of my gear into the barracks to make it look believable," he settled for instead. "It'll be over soon enough."

The strike team got underway within an hour. Jorgan's gut twisted uncomfortably when the floor shifted under his feet, but it had nothing to do with entering hyperspace. He stared at the pile of effects in his old locker and dreaded the next few nights of sleeping alone in his bunk. With a resigned sigh, Jorgan shut the door harder than necessary and strode from the room. He nearly collided with the Jedi outside the entranceway.

Notiac Carlo was a Miralukan woman. She had rich, brown skin with auburn hair, and a tastefully jeweled mask that appeared elegant enough to distract the viewer from the fact that it covered her lack of eyes. "Captain Jorgan, correct?"

Jorgan had never understood how Miraluka saw the galaxy. He knew it had something to do with the Force, that each of them were connected to it in some manner. "Master Carlo," he answered with a stiff spine. A salute might be lost on her, or it might not. Jorgan didn't plan on taking that chance. "Are you finding everything to your liking?"

"My accommodations are perfectly acceptable, thank you," the Jedi responded with a politeness expected of a dignitary such as the Barsen'thor. While Jorgan by no means considered himself an expert on the ways of Force users, the fact that Master Carlo's title had been given to so few people signaled its importance. It also begged the question of why she was on a mission clearly below her status.

"I am quite accustomed to crowded ships, I assure you," Master Carlo continued.

Jorgan cleared his throat. "Of course, your diplomatic missions with the Rift Alliance made for interesting reading." Anyone who could corral that many politicians was to be either feared or respected. Jorgan had yet to decide which. He'd heard of her when she received the title; front page news material.

Notiac offered a small smile. "Yes, they certainly kept me on my toes. My crew was to be commended on their tolerance of so many guests constantly tramping through their personal space."

"Naturally," Jorgan responded. He understood the Jedi's meaning; that she knew her presence aboard the Thunderclap wasn't welcome. "Feel free to explore as you want. No one will complain."

"I believe your Mandalorian tracker would disagree, but that is neither here, nor there," Master Carlo laughed with a wave of her hand. They'd settled on the story of Verin being a specialized hunter who made his name in taking down rogue Mando targets. It wasn't completely false, he and Cinlat had once hunted a member of Death Watch.

Jorgan glanced over the Jedi's shoulder to spot Fynta waving him towards the holoprojector. "We'll ensure that Verin doesn't bother you, Master Jedi."

"Notiac, please," she smiled. "But, I've kept you from your duties too long. My apologies." The Jedi tipped her head gracefully and continued past Jorgan towards the conference room. Somehow, he got the impression that the Jedi had gathered more information than she had given.

When Jorgan entered the main room, Fynta had everyone gathered around the holoterminal. "Alright, people, time to make a plan."

"Why?" Cormac leaned against the medbay door with his arms crossed and grinned. "We'll just change it when we get there."

"Better to change a plan, than to have to start from scratch," Fynta shot back. She relayed mission critical information as if the rest of them had just been called in. The Jedi slipped silently into the briefing and listened as if this were all new to her, as well. Jorgan kept Notiac in his peripheral to gauge her reactions, though found it difficult through the mask that covered half of her face.

"This particular hunter is known for taking live targets," Dorne added when Fynta finished. "Her attack on SIS personnel makes no sense."

Notiac cleared her throat, and all eyes turned towards the Jedi. "Might I ask how you know so much about the prisoner, Lieutenant?"

"Of course, Master Carlo. Imperial youth from families already established in the military are screened for children who show aptitude for the same career." Dorne's explanation came across as entirely clinical. "I was brought in to monitor the Great Hunt when I was young while they were on Dromund Kaas. I was assigned to the bounty hunter Cinlat Ejnar." No one mentioned Tython, including the Jedi.

"Fascinating." Notiac waved her hand for the briefing to continue without further comment.

Dorne nodded, apparently convinced that her explanation satisfied the Jedi's curiosity. "There is more than one death mark against Mrs. Ejnar from the Empire due to her recent _sympathies_ towards the Republic. This could be a retaliatory strike if she is, indeed, innocent."

Fynta typed in the command to pull up the image of a planet on the terminal. "She claims the offer originated from Tatooine. So, we are headed that way to see what we can find out."

"This all hinges on the word of a bounty hunter," Jorgan added, just for show. Generally speaking, he avoided situations that hinged on his ability to lie. The only course of action would be to treat this briefing as authentic. It wouldn't do for the second in command to remain silent. "It could be a wild convor chase, however, if the Empire _has_ managed to gain access to SIS sensitive data, it poses a serious threat to the rest of the Republic. We can't afford to ignore the possibility."

Fynta acknowledged Jorgan's input with a nod before bringing the meetings to a close. "I'm assuming introductions have been made?" A resounding chorus of affirmation went around the room. "Good. Now, we've got soldiers, Jedi, and a Mandalorian all crammed into one ship. I expect everyone to behave themselves and work as a team." She lingered on Verin, who'd remained silent throughout the charade. "That's all I have until we reach Anchorhead. Make sure your weapons are clean and loaded, and kit is packed."

Jorgan started for the bridge, hoping to speak with Fynta privately in order to get their story straight. "Major, a word?"

Jorgan stopped on the second stair out of habit. Fynta waited on the floor for the Jedi to speak. The Miraluka tipped her head to the side as if listening for the footfalls of the others to fade away. When she was satisfied, Notiac turned her expressionless mask back on the commanders. "I'll check the chrono, sir," Jorgan commented with the realization that he hadn't been invited to the conversation.

"No need, Captain," Notiac remarked. Her voice carried the hard note of authority, nothing like the kindness Jorgan heard earlier. "This involves you, as well."

Fynta and Aric shared a glance before the former crossed her arms. "Very well, say what you've come to say, Master Jedi." The major shifted her weight in order to face Notiac head on; a dominant stance.

"Let's not stand on circumstance," Notiac continued. "I can see the ties that bind this squad, perhaps stronger than your average military unit, but understandable given Havoc Squad's reputation." Fynta crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. "However, that does not explain the tether I sense between you and the male."

Jorgan tensed as the Jedi continued to lay out her method of deduction. "Your heritage is not recorded in your file, however, you have made a name for yourself, and soldiers do gossip." Notiac clasped her hands before her, the woman's countenance serene as she spoke. "I have a colleague who has heard interesting things, Major Wolfe. Rumors I had discounted until meeting your brother."

Fynta narrowed her eyes at the Jedi. "Not sure I follow."

"You and Mr. Verin leave similar wakes within the Force. Dark violence covered in bright flashes of emotion." Notiac recounted her findings with a casualness that made Jorgan nervous. "The relation is clear to someone who knows what to look for, as is your mark on Captain Jorgan."

Aric's blood felt as though it dropped to his feet. Notiac _tsked_ and waved a hand. "Hear me when I assure you that I have no interest in outing your family or illicit romance. One thing I value above all else is honesty. I'm sure that is something you can appreciate, Major."

"What do you want?" Fynta asked, her voice deadly calm.

"Be at ease, I am not threatening you. I merely felt it important to inform you that I am aware of your ruse, and that it is unnecessary." Notiac tipped her head. "I hope that we find what you're looking for on Tatooine. It would be nice to know that your brother and his wife are innocent. I'll leave you to disclose this to your crew at your leisure and retire to my room."

Fynta and Jorgan watched the Jedi vanish into the conference room in silence. Neither moved until the door slid shut, and even then, it took a few seconds before Fynta found her voice. "Fierfek, that could have gone better."

"Could have gone worse too," Jorgan added.

Fynta nodded, then met his eyes. "Shab, Aric. I really hope I know what I'm doing."

 **Nar Shaddaa  
** **Undisclosed SIS Holding Facility**

Cinlat shivered violently, her muscles cramping from whatever drug they'd injected her with. A drop of sweat ran down her nose to join the puddle on the floor. She focused on each drip to pass the time. Even while her blood felt as if it was boiling in her veins, the fan overhead ensure that her now bare skill remained cold. _Doesn't matter_ , she thought, gritting her teeth as she attempted to straighten her spine. _Verin's safe, and they've got something in the works_.

The SIS agents no longer questioned Cinlat. The Rattataki interrogator had been replaced by a Rodian who dealt with needles instead of his fists. After her last round, they'd left her in a dark room cuffed to a chair with one leg cut too short. Every time the huntress felt herself drifting into sleep, her body would relax and tip her chair precariously to one side. She'd jerk awake, muscles screaming with the agony of holding herself upright.

A steady hum reverberated through the floor, and Cinlat barely bit back her groan. With a loud pop, an industrial cooling system kicked on, flooding the room with frigid air. Cinlat's teeth chattered despite her attempts to stop them, and she became painfully aware of every knitted bone in her body.

Still, no one came. Maybe they expected Cinlat to beg or call out for help. The very idea enraged the huntress enough to shock her back to awareness. The concoction made her mind sluggish, and she scolded herself for allowing it to happen. The Jedi should have been obvious, but Cinlat had overlooked the threat and gotten what she deserved.

Replaying the scene in her mind helped Cinlat focus. She and Verin had gathered their weapons and were strolling through the promenade when the Jedi struck. There hadn't been any fanfare or talks of surrender. One moment, Cinlat had been walking with her husband, the next, she couldn't move. Images of the dead faces of Republic personnel flashed through her mind as if evidence of her guilt, and then she woke up in the interrogation room. The only reason Cinlat knew that her captor had been a Jedi was due to Verin's shouting. Even the memory sounded muted, as if the entire instance had taken place under water.

Light burned Cinlat's eyes, yanking her from her numbed state. "You look a little thirsty," the male voice said over the speakers built into the ceiling. Cinlat heard laughter in it, and hated him for enjoying her anguish. She'd always considered herself fair when it came to her marks, but if she ever discovered who the bastard was at the controls, she'd happily gut him, then feed his entrails to his cohorts. These thoughts were darker than Cinlat's usual wish for revenge, but she'd had a lousy day, and so allowed herself this one comfort.

As expected, the sprinkler system switched on overhead, and Cinlat sucked in a breath when the cold water hit her skin. She wore little more than her underclothes, and those had been soaked through three times over. Even knowing what to expect didn't keep her from gasping every time.

The water switched off, and the man on the intercom yawned. "Hope you got your fill. Let's dry you off." The air currents intensified, and a small whimper escaped Cinlat's lips as she tried to curl in on herself to hold in as much heat as possible. Eventually, the man would grow bored with pushing buttons, she just had to last that long.


	5. Hard as Beskar

**Warnings:** Torture, ramifications of torture, & mild language

 **Hard as Beskar**

* * *

 **Tatooine  
** **21:00  
** **(Six days in SIS custody)**

By Fynta's count, they still had eight days left to wrap up this mission. Unfortunately, that meant Cinlat had already been at the mercy of vengeful SIS for nearly a week. Had her brother not already been out of sorts throughout the entire trip to the desert planet, and the revelation that their Jedi minder hadn't been fooled by their charade, Fynta would have clouted Verin for not mentioning Tatooine sooner. He only remembered that detail once they'd been underway, claiming that he hadn't been in on the meeting, and their tips came from all over the galaxy. Cinlat had always handled the business end of their trade, and now, Fynta understood why.

According to Verin, Cinlat had met the contact at a hole in the wall cantina in Mos Ila. After a little detective work, made surprisingly simple by Master Carlo's willingness to manipulate the feeble minds of the slum inhabitants, they discovered that the guy still came around every night. Fynta and Jorgan took up sniper positions on the adjacent, albeit crumbling, rooftop to watch the meeting take place. Verin had gone through Cinlat's data to find a sneakily snapped image of the man in question. It must have been taken from her armor cam given the awkward angle and the target's apparent disinterest in the lens. He and Notiac held position inside, Verin agreeing to work peacefully with the Jedi due to her apparent interest in justice.

"Think Verin can handle this?" Jorgan asked as they laid on their bellies completely sealed in their armor. Elara and Cormac wandered the alleyways below in case the man decided to bolt. They'd been there an hour so far, and still no contact. The second moon started to rise, adding light to the clear sky, and risking their cover with each passing second.

"Maybe the guy doesn't feel like a drink tonight," Fynta answered, dodging around Aric's question. In truth, she had no idea if Verin would be able to keep his head. He'd grown increasingly volatile every day that yielded fruitless results, and Fynta worried that he might do something stupid. If he made it through the night, she knew it would only be due to the knowledge that Cinlat was counting on him.

Jorgan chuckled lightly, an odd sound given the circumstances. "I'm impressed that you've managed to stay put for so long." Fynta gave an indignant snort. She didn't like sitting still, it's why she'd have never made it as a sniper. Too much waiting for so little reward.

"Verin can handle it," Fynta stated in an effort to deflect Aric's attention off her inability to remain motionless for more than a few minutes. "He hasn't threatened Notiac in what, two days? He must be feeling pretty desperate." In truth, Fynta kept Verin in her crosshairs so that she could fire a warning shot if it looked like he'd kill their target before Cormac could nab the guy.

"He is," Jorgan answered simply. Fynta must have made some noise, because he went on to explain. The Cathar's helmet never moved, a difficult accomplishment while having a conversation. "He told me about the bes'bev, and what it meant to your family." Fynta quirked an eyebrow out of habit even though he wouldn't see it. For Verin to share such personal information spoke volumes about his mental state at the time.

Fynta pushed the thoughts away for another time and sighed. "I don't think he's coming."

Jorgan actually laughed. "Patience, it's only been an hour."

Fynta rolled her eyes and switched to the main link. "Verin, want to trade? I think I'm getting a crick in my neck."

"Possible ID," he said by way of an answer. No banter, no smart assed come back. The man was completely focused on the job at hand and nothing else.

Fynta scanned the cantina and settled on a short human male with a balding head and a bushy beard. "You sure, vod?"

"Yeah, that's the guy," Verin growled.

"We need him alive," Fynta reminded her brother as he stood to approach the man.

Notiac intercepted Verin, and for a moment, Fynta thought he'd deck the Jedi. "Let me handle this. The less bloodshed, the better." From Fynta's angle looking over Notiac's shoulder, she watched as her brother narrow his eyes in suspicion.

"Two minutes, Jedi. Then, the chakaar's mine." Verin crossed his arms as Notiac tipped her head and slipped into the chair next to the man.

The Jedi struck up a conversation about the weather, poor luck, and even the quality of the booze at the local fighting arena. Cormac sniggered when the term _Lady of Pain_ came up, and Fynta was almost certain she'd heard the name before. At last, Notiac waved a hand dismissively. "You want to join me outside."

Notiac didn't turn the phrase as a request, and Fynta realized a split-second before Dorne spoke what had happened. "Sir, is she—"

"Hold tight," Fynta answered, cutting the question off mid-sentence. Using a Jedi mind trick to nudge someone into giving up information was one thing, but Master Carlo had to know that Fynta didn't plan on asking nicely for information. It troubled her more than she expected to know that a Jedi would so willingly put someone's life in danger.

Both Jedi and man exited the cantina into a back alley to find Cormac waiting. The man barely had time to yelp before Cormac caught him with a wicked left hook. "Alright everyone," Fynta order, finally able to move again. "Let's get him to the safe house so we can ask some questions."

Fynta slid back onto her knees and stretched her back. Now, came the part she had been dreading. "Jorgan, have you read my file?"

"Not yet," he admitted warily, faceplate turning towards her. "It never felt like the right time."

Fynta sighed, though she couldn't say if she was pleased that he still hadn't discovered the darkness that lurked within that heavily encrypted coding, or disappointed because now he'd find out the hard way. Pushing to her feet, Fynta looked over the broken little town and decided that it was a little of both.

 **Mos Ila  
** **Safe House  
** **22:30**

Jorgan deposited the prisoner into a chair, and Verin cuffed him. The man snorted, but otherwise gave no indication of consciousness. "Meet Trydan Mosall," Fynta said with hands on hips. They were holed up in the back room of one of the planet's many abandoned buildings. Fynta had sent Cormac, Dorne, and Master Carlo on a food run, claiming that if all three went, they'd have a better chance of finding food that wouldn't poison them. She'd tried to send Jorgan as well, but he'd refused to leave.

The Cathar stood against the wall with his arms crossed while Fynta and Verin held a quiet argument across the room. He knew something wasn't right just by the way she smiled. It was tight and didn't reach her eyes, a clear indication that his wife was on edge. Fynta pointed at Jorgan and shook her head while Verin motioned at the man cuffed to the chair. Finally, Jorgan figured he'd given them enough privacy and crossed the room to find out what was going on.

"—do it for Cinlat. I need you on this one, Fyn'ika," Verin whispered.

Fynta opened her mouth to argue, but stopped when she caught sight of Jorgan. Her eyes were hard as durasteel when she looked into his, and the Cathar knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next.

With a sigh, Fynta faced Jorgan stiffly. "Aric, I need you to stand guard at the door while I question the prisoner."

Jorgan reached to touch her arm, but Fynta took a step away before his fingers could find purchase. "What are you going to do?" He asked, preparing himself for the worst.

"I'm going to get answers," Fynta responded in a cold tone that Jorgan hadn't heard since that thrice damned mission on Hoth. He'd killed a SIS agent that day in reparation for the lives of good men. He wanted to argue that she didn't have to do this, but judging by the set of her jaw, Fynta had made her choice.

Jorgan stared at his wife for a few more seconds, convinced further by her unwavering glare. Neither Fynta, nor Verin could forcibly remove him from the room, so Jorgan turned away from his wife to stalk back to the door. He leaned against the _inside_ , offering only a brow raise in answer to her renewed glare.

Eventually, Fynta gave up on the nonverbal threats and returned her attention to Verin. The man offered his sister a helmet, more specifically, Cinlat's helmet. "She's running out of time, ori'vod."

Fynta accepted the red and black helmet and slipped it over her head. She squatted in front of the man and nodded to Verin. He leaned over, holding a vial of smelling salt under the man's nose. Trydan snorted, then sat bolt upright and stared around the room with a frantic gleam in his eyes.

Fynta snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Wake up, pal, I need information." The man's face paled when his eyes finally settled on the expressionless T-shaped visor of the woman he'd presumably scammed. The filters lowered Fynta's voice to give her a disconcerting, droid-like sound.

Steeling himself, Trydan spat "I don't got anything to say to the likes of y—"

Fynta backhanded the man hard across the mouth before he could finish his defiant rant. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, so why don't we skip to the part where you tell me who gave you the slave chip contract." Her voice was low and even as she ejected the vibroblade from her gauntlet and held it in front of the man's nose.

Trydan swallowed, but maintained his defiance. "No idea what you're talking about."

"You're sure?" Fynta asked. She'd remained absolutely stationary and had yet to make an actual threat. That didn't keep Trydan's eyes off the blade she held before him, though.

In an effort to appear unflappable, perhaps, the man did his best to sound nonplussed. "How about you send that cute little Miraluka back, maybe we can all get better aqauain—" His words cut off in a strangled scream as Fynta slammed her fist into Trydan's leg. Her vibroblade torn through muscle and sinew so that the barest hint of the end protruded from the bottom of his thigh. Jorgan pushed off the wall, then physically stopped himself from yanking his wife back to ask what the hell she was doing. His heart pounded, and he realized now why she'd wanted to know if he'd read her file.

Trydan gasped for air, his chest heaving as he whimpered. Fynta stood slowly, eliciting little cries as she pushed down on the impaled leg. She put the faceplate of her helmet directly in front of Trydan's face. "A name. Now." The lack of emotion in his wife's voice, one Jorgan was so used to being filled with laughter, chilled him to the core.

Trydan's cheeks puffed out with every breath. "He'll kill me," he wheezed.

Fynta ripped her knife free, and the man screamed again. She wiped it on Trydan's shirt before letting the blade slide back into her gauntlet and tilted the helmet to the side to watch the blood pooling beneath his wounded leg. "You're losing a lot of blood," she commented offhandedly before looking back up to him. " _He_ might not get the chance."

Jorgan counted the seconds that passed, watching the puddle beneath the chair grow. There was a lot to be sure, but Fynta had missed the main artery. Trydan didn't know that, though. His eyes were wide with fear as he twisted to the side to look at the blood on the floor. "I can't. I can't." He repeated, tears streaming down his face.

Fynta removed her sidearm and waved it in front of the man as she paced back and forth. "Verpine. You _sure_ you don't have anything for me?"

Trydan shook his head so violently that Jorgan thought the man might upend himself. Fynta simply shrugged, then aimed her blaster at his left foot.

 **23:00**

Balic dropped his sack of goodies and plowed into the door when they heard the crack of Fynta's Verpine blaster. He bowled Jorgan over when he crashed through the flimsy door, stumbling to regain his footing even as the Cathar cursed.

Fynta paused with her sidearm halfway into the holster, and Cinlat's helmet under her arm. In front of her sat Trydan, crying like a baby as he stared at what looked to Cormac like a lot of blood on the floor and a blaster hole in the floor by his foot. Balic registered all of this in the space of a second before finally settling on Fynta's face. "What the hell, boss?"

Notiac pushed passed Balic and knelt in front of the man. She made a reassuring sound before laying her hands gently on Trydan's thigh and a soft, blue glow emanated from her hands.

"We got what we came for," Fynta replied, but her tone was wrong. Instead of sounding relieved, her voice was tight, as if she was on the verging of causing serious bodily harm, but hadn't decided to who yet.

Fynta shook her head angrily and tossed the helmet back to Verin. The man blinked at it, then after his sister before running to catch up. Finally, Cormac settled on Jorgan, ignoring the hushed conversation between Elara and Notiac as they worked to staunch Trydan's bleeding. "Well?"

To Cormac's surprise, Jorgan looked out of sorts as well. That Cathar's color was definitely off, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Jek Kardan," Jorgan mumbled from behind his fingers.

The name sounded familiar, but it wasn't until Elara spoke up that Cormac remembered why. "The man who commanded Havoc Squad before Tavus?"

"Shit." Cormac choked on the word. "Why in the hell would he be after Cinlat?"

"He's not," Jorgan growled, eyes straight ahead as he made for the door. "I need a drink."

After ensuring that Elara and Notiac had things in hand, Cormac set off in search of his commanding officers. He found Jorgan sitting at the bar in the nearest cantina. There was no sign of the major, which Cormac thought was a bad sign. He slid into the seat next to Jorgan and ordered another of whatever the Cathar was drinking. They sat in silence for a long time, each man taking alternating sips.

Finally, Jorgan took a shaky breath and swore.

"That bad, huh?" Cormac hedged with a sideways glance at the captain.

Jorgan shook his head, but was a few more minutes before he spoke. "I told her we shouldn't have let that man live." Cormac had been asking about the circumstances that led up to Trydan bleeding out in the interrogation room, but Jorgan clearly had other plans.

Cormac tipped his head in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Fynta thought a war hero like Kardan deserved the honor of choosing how he went out, so she let him live." Jorgan knocked back the rest of his whiskey and held up a finger for another. "Now, here we are." Somehow, Cormac doubted the drinking had anything to do with Kardan.

"And the boss?" Cormac asked, wondering why Jorgan and Fynta didn't have their heads together formulating a plan.

The Cathar snorted. "I'm giving her space." He nodded his thanks to the barkeep and stared at the amber liquid in his glass. Jorgan's tone was enough to tell Cormac everything he needed to know about the events that took place in that room.

Torture wasn't something that Balic was comfortable with. He wondered if he'd be capable of inflicting pain on another being. Would he be able to listen to a man scream if it meant protecting Elara? The very idea sent a shiver through his entire body, and Cormac downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. It would be better not to think about it.

 **00:00**

Fynta paced back and forth taking deep breaths. She shook her hands, counted heart beats, and tried to relax her shoulders, but nothing helped. She was furious; with herself, her brother, even Aric. Fynta knew that if she stopped moving, she'd start shaking again, and contemplated punching the wall just to take her mind off the last hour. No matter how many calming breaths Fynta took, her heart rate simply wouldn't slow. It left her feeling jittery and on edge.

It had been a long time since Fynta had needed to extract information in such a brutal manner, and she'd forgotten how damaging it was. Even during her days at Epoch, Fynta hated inflicting pain for the purpose of gaining intel. A clean shot to the head was more her style. She couldn't dispute Verin's claim that Cinlat was on borrowed time in that SIS prison, but _haar'chak_ , there had to have been a better way.

Fynta forced herself to stop moving, expanding her lungs purposefully in a final attempt to soothe her nerves. Anger flooded her system when she thought of Aric. _Damn him, why couldn't he wait outside like I asked?_ Again, the pacing began with renewed vigor. How was she supposed to face her husband _now_ , after he'd watched her do the very thing that they were trying to rescue Cinlat from? The whole scenario was a big, fierfeking mess with no right answers.

"Sir?"

Fynta startled, nearly tripping over her own boots at the soft greeting of the Havoc Squad medic. She blinked at Dorne for a moment, then waved her permission to come closer. "Sorry, Dorne, everything okay?" She'd forgotten to turn her comm back on and had no idea how long she'd been in that alley.

Elara stepped lightly into the circle of light from the dusty lamp attached to one of the buildings. "I came to ask you the same thing. Your heart rate has been elevated quite a while."

Fynta sighed and shook her head, but the words stuck in her throat. Elara was a medic; someone who risked her life to save people. Fynta had no doubt that Trydan had lived. She'd intentionally missed the artery, though he might not regain his ability to walk. That was as much of a death sentence on a planet like Tatooine.

Without warning, Dorne put a hand on Fynta's shoulder, forcing her to meet the medic's eyes. "I'm here if you'd like to discuss it. As your friend."

Fynta smiled, that small amount of humanity delivered in an Imperial accent bled some of the tension out of her. No matter what, Elara would always be there. The woman was as steadfast a friend as any Fynta had ever had. She'd scold her for being an idiot while putting all the pieces back together, but she never judged.

Fynta couldn't face down Kardan in her current condition, and was forced to admit defeat in the face of her friend's openness. "You know, Elara, I think I would."

 **Nar Shaddaa  
00:08  
** **(Seven days in SIS custody)**

Cinlat lay on the floor in a dark isolation cell. Her captors had become bored with torture and had left her alone. Her old bones ached from the cold, durasteel floor, and her eyes felt strained from constantly seeking any source of light. The only interaction she'd had with other, sentient beings, was the grating scrape of a small door, and something that might have been food once shoved through. According to Cinlat's calculations, she was fed once a day, and this marked her fifth feeding in the cell.

Even though the room smelled of shit and piss, the bounty hunter's stomach twisted angrily with hunger. She heard the footsteps and almost wept at the relief she felt knowing that food was forthcoming, no matter its putrid nature. Cinlat scolded herself brutally for being so weak that she already felt on the verge of madness.

The cell door flung open, flooding the small room with light, and Cinlat shied away from it. "This 'er?" A thick Imperial accent asked. She guessed he was low birth, probably educated after joining the military, which most likely made him an enforcer.

"Yep," the man replied, this one definitely Republic. "Cinlat Ejnar. How the mighty have fallen."

The Imperial chuckled. "We'll e'sure she's t'ken 'are of."

Rough hands wrapped around Cinlat's arms, wrenching them behind her back to slap on shock cuffs. Her vision had just begun to adjust when the bag was shoved over her head, and the two men hauled her out of the cell. "Pleasure doing business with you," Republic said, his laughter fading as Imperial guards dragged Cinlat away to some unknown hell.


	6. Old Enemies

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, I was super ill for a few days and pretty much did nothing but reblog on Tumblr while watching TV and bemoaning my fate. I'm feeling loads better though, so hopefully, we'll wrap this story up before the weekend.

 **Old Enemies**

* * *

 **The Thunderclap  
** **En route to Nar Shaddaa  
** **(Day Seven: Transferred over to Imperial custody)**

Elara paced her inner sanctum, though most only knew it as the Havoc Squad her, however, it was a room of complete order where she could gather her thoughts. It wasn't that Elara hadn't seen the effects of torture, she'd even kept men alive during Imperial interrogation. No, what troubled her most was that she thought that life was behind her. Not once since joining the Republic had she thought to be subjected to the whimpering of an injured man or woman whose sole crime was knowing information. Not to mention, the brutality.

Had Master Carlo not been on hand, Elara fretted that Trydan might have lost consciousness before she could deliver the medications to keep him from going into shock. The medic had been livid when she saw the state of him, the knowledge that Fynta had sent her away purposefully twisting her gut until Elara thought she would vomit. When she'd gone to that alley seeking out her commander, it had been to scold the woman for being such a brute. However, when she'd seen the state Fynta was in, her resolve had faltered.

The two women shared an honest chat instead, and while Elara still did not approve of Fynta's methods, she understood her a little better. It had been Balic's conversation with Jorgan that revealed the major's hesitance to proceed at Verin's urging. As horrible as it sounded, Elara felt better knowing that Fynta's method of questioning Trydan had reduced their major to a shaky mess. She could still respect a woman who was willing to sacrifice her comfort for the life of family, so long as she maintained ownership of her humanity. It was all frustratingly confusing, and Elara found herself grumbling to herself when logic refused to tell her why.

The door slid open to reveal Balic. He yawned and rubbed a hand down his face before sitting on the edge of their bed. "The bosses still aren't talking."

"I got the impression it was more Fynta's doing, than Jorgan's," Elara commented, allowing herself to be distracted from her thoughts. They were going in circles anyway. "Where have you been?" She asked when she realized how filthy her husband was.

"Cleaning out the engine room," Cormac snorted. "Fynta decided it needed to be scrubbed from top to bottom, and she and I were the only ones who would fit."

Elara tipped her head in question. "That makes no sense."

"That's what I said," Cormac agreed, pulling off his boots. "She's avoiding Verin too."

Elara sighed. For all her merits, Fynta had no idea how to properly handle any emotion aside from anger. She'd have made a terrifying Sith. Balic stripped down to his underwear and stretched out on the bed. "I'm beat. Wake me when we get close to Nar Shaddaa would you, doll?"

"Of course," Elara responded offhandedly. She placed a kiss on Balic's lips, for which he made the most comical puckering face as he drifted off to sleep before fully realizing the kiss, and slipped from the room.

The main room was nearly deserted when Elara emerged. The Jedi Master sat in a chair reading her holo, though there was no sign of Verin, Fynta, or Jorgan. Elara stood still for a moment, gathering her bearings and wondering which project she should work on, or whether she should seek out one of her friends. Master Carlo took the choice out of her hands.

"Care to sit, Lieutenant?"

Elara glanced around, then took the chair opposite the Jedi. She'd never spoken with a member of the Order before. Especially not one as prestigious as the Barsen'thor. There were a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but she held them at bay.

Notiac's face rose as if to look Elara in the eye. "I'm curious, does this mission follow your usual parameters?"

Elara considered the question carefully. Though Jedi might not be as devious as Sith, they were no less skilled with weaving words into the picture they preferred. Especially, an emissary such as Master Carlo. "Do you mean, _is your commanding officer prone to torturing her prisoners_?"

Notiac tipped her head in a graceful nod.

"No, Fynta has always been fair." In fact, Elara had seen the woman go out of her way to ensure they were treated fairly.

"What made this mission different, do you think?" Master Carlo asked in the smooth tones of a Jedi. When Elara refused to answer, Notiac's lips quirked into a smile. "Perhaps it was the fact that her brother's wife is on the line?"

When it became obvious that Elara would not get out of this conversation without some form of reply, she shook head. "I believe it is that she fears the Republic will not honor its part of the agreement. Cinlat should be kept whole and unharmed, though there is concern that the SIS will try to extract information from her through similar methods."

Notiac nodded. "Yes, fear does push people towards the inexplicable." For a moment, Elara thought that the other woman might recite the Jedi Code, but then she fell silent again. Whatever information she felt that she'd gleaned, Elara knew it had little to do with words. Miraluka were known to see the galaxy in ways that couldn't be explained. Their lack of eyes forcing them to rely on a higher plane of Force awareness.

Having decided that further conversation with Master Carlo might prove detrimental to her squad, Elara stood. "If you'll excuse me, I have research to attend to."

"Of course." The two woman parted ways, and Elara slipped back into her room and went directly to the computer terminal. Her conversation having revealed a question in her own mind. Had the SIS stayed true to their part of the bargain?

 **Nar Shaddaa  
** **Republic Embassy**

"What do you _mean_ she isn't in her cell?" Balkar flapped his arms at the tech, a small Twi'lek woman with pink skin and a terrified look on her face. "How did she escape?"

"I—I'm not sure, sir. I've been scouring the logs for hours, and it looks like a transfer slip up." The woman hid behind her datapad as if it were a shield until Balkar snatched it from her.

Cinlat Ejnar, in his custody for nearly a week, had just vanished. Balkar noticed the problem after getting off the holo with Fynta. The woman looked rough, not nearly as sexy as usual, but she'd come through with the goods. Her only demand being that they received confirmation of the prisoner's status. Fynta stated that she wasn't running her ass all over the galaxy tracking down leads if they were just going to execute Cinlat out of court. Balkar had feigned insult at the allegation, though a few of the boys who knew the murdered agents had mentioned just such a thing. Now, however, it looked like he might really be in it deep. Fynta Wolfe was not a woman Balkar wanted to piss off, and he'd heard from reliable sources that she had an unshakable, if not slightly skewed, sense of justice.

Scanning over the data that the tech _had_ managed to dredge up, Balkar found the problem. "Shit." Someone had authorized a prisoner transfer under his ID. Not that it was surprising, they'd all stolen someone's password, but that was usually as a prank. Ordering vast quantities of take out on the company's dime, or making it appear that an agent had dipped into the SIS funds for a lap dance. Those were harmless fun, this, however.

"Where was she transferred to," Balkar asked, keeping his volume down, but failing to remove the annoyance from his tone. "This doesn't say."

"About that, sir." The Twi'lek hugged the datapad to her slight frame and stared at Balkar's chin instead of his eyes. "All evidence points to Shadow Town."

Balkar's blood ran cold and this time, he covered his face with both hands. "Well, shit."

 **Nar Shaddaa  
** **Spaceport**

Verin couldn't focus on anything except the next step. They had a name and a motive for the hut'uun responsible for setting him and Cinlat up, and for once, it wasn't his fault. Verin cast a wary eye at his sister. She'd managed to avoid both he and Aric on the way home. Although, for completely different reasons. Verin wasn't even sure that his sister had slept in her own bed, and felt more than a little guilty for putting her in such a tense situation with her husband. However, Cinlat was more important that either Fynta or Aric's feelings.

"General, do you still have Kardan on lock down?" Fynta had a grey haired woman in an officer's uniform on the holo and spoke while she walked. Verin was certain that went against some kind of regulation about how to address superior officers, but he wasn't an expert on Republic politics.

At first, the woman didn't answer. When she did, it came as a sigh. "Supreme Chancellor Saresh felt that he had fulfilled his part of the bargain and pardoned him. He has since vanished."

"Fierfek," Fynta swore. "You didn't think this might be something I needed to know? The man swore to kill my entire squad if we so much as looked at one of his guys wrong."

The general pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Major, you're more than capable of taking care of yourself. I find it hard to believe that Kardan would be foolish enough to go after Havoc Squad." Verin eyed the general suspiciously. She had a soft voice, appealing in a maternal way. Which meant she couldn't be trusted.

"That's why he's gone after my family," Fynta growled and ended the transmission.

The four commandos, one Jedi, and Verin, took up nearly the entire lift, and the look on Fynta's face was enough to make the people considering squeezing in with them opt to wait for the next one. Verin mulled over his sister's conversation with her commanding officer, then cleared his throat. "You do realize that you just outed yourself, right?"

"Yes." The answer cut off with a sharp nod. Perhaps it had been an accident, but the Galactic Army of the Republic now knew that Fynta Wolfe had relatives. She heaved a sigh and met his eyes for the first time since leaving Tatooine. "I'll fix this, Verin. Kardan won't get another pardon."

"So, this guy used to command Havoc Squad, huh?" Fynta nodded. Verin had gotten the gist of what had happened from her conversation with the general, but curiosity was a weakness of his, and he needed something to focus on. "Why's he after you?"

"Because I killed most of his squad," Fynta answered simply.

Aric inhaled to speak, but Elara cut him off. "It's a bit more complicated than that. The former Havoc Squad turned traitor, and it became our duty to hunt them down. Only one surrendered peacefully."

"I remember hearing about that," Notiac chimed, chin in hand. Silence settled over the group until the door dinged open. "I will go to Agent Balkar and inform him of what we've discovered." As far as Verin knew, the Jetii hadn't uttered a single word of condemnation, and he couldn't help but wonder about her thoughts.

Notiac tipped her head when Fynta offered a snort of acknowledgment, then hailed a taxi. When they reached their own, Fynta gave the man instructions, then closed the privacy screen. "Aric, Balic, and Elara, you three go back to the safe house and start monitoring . . . shab, I don't know, everything."

"Where are you going?" Aric asked, sounding none too pleased about being left behind again.

Fynta studied her holo, keying in the frequency to her contact. "Verin and I are going to dredge up some old contacts."

 **Residential Sector** **  
****Apartment 215**

Jorgan paced through the apartment while Dorne monitored comms traffic, and Cormac did a weapons check. Eventually, Fynta would have to talk to him, even if he had to trap her in a room to make it happen. She'd effectively cut him off every chance on the ship, resorting to sleeping in the main room. Elara had confided a little of their conversation, and Jorgan felt personally responsible for his wife's current state. He'd reacted poorly before realizing that he would have done the same to find Fynta.

"Sir, we have an incoming holo from Agent Balkar," Dorne announced.

Aric crossed the room and stood in front of the receiver. "Jorgan." He assumed Fynta had given him the frequency, though knew the signal bounced off quite a few towers all over the Hutt moon.

"Captain, I've been trying to reach the major, but she's not picking up. I just got a really confusing report from Master Notiac Carlo," Balkar said, waving a datapad at him. "I'm impressed, this tracking program shows you jumping from one side of the planet to the other. Fynta's doing?"

"Get to the point, Balkar," Jorgan growled.

"Alright, alright. So, Notiac claims this whole thing was masterminded by Jek Kardan. Not that I'm still sore about war droid and the lying or anything, but that he's on the rampage because you two didn't hold up your part of the deal by bringing them in alive." The SIS agent stared at Jorgan with hands on hips. "Now, I have to ask myself, why is he going after random Mandalorian bounty hunters for vengeance? Then it occurred to me, if I had a little sister who wanted to travel down the straight and narrow, but I was a big shot criminal, what would I do? Most obvious move would be to remove any evidence of my connection with her, either by changing my name, or hers. . . . How am I doing so far?"

Jorgan glared at the SIS agent through the holo and kept his mouth shut. When it became apparent that Balkar was perfectly content to let the silence drag on. Jorgan finally huffed. "What do you want?"

The man sighed, dropping his datapad on an unseen surface and shook his head. "I want the truth, Captain. Now, I think I've covered for you both enough times to have earned a little bit of trust." Jorgan snorted; trust a SIS agent.

"You're right, Jonas," Fynta called from the door. Jorgan gaped at his wife. She had a busted lip, her usually tidy braid in shambles, and a small cut on her forehead. At last, Fynta met Jorgan's eyes, but they were expressionless.

Fynta stood next to Jorgan so that she could be seen, then nodded for him to step away. "Verin, come here."

Verin had the beginnings of a black eye, and it looked like his nose had been bleeding recently. "Jonas, meet my brother. Cinlat is his wife, and in being such, my sister. Jek Kardan found out somehow and set up this elaborate ruse as payback because we had to kill a few Havoc traitors." She dangled a set of blood covered ID tags from her fingers. "It's been handled."

Jorgan snarled inadvertently at the sight of Kardan's name. He should have been involved in that kill, and felt more than a little betrayed that Fynta had cut him out. Balkar stared wordlessly for the first time since Jorgan had met the man.

"You're the reason they don't kill Republic soldiers anymore," Balkar finally commented in a deceptively even tone. Then, the SIS agent snorted. "I can see the family resemblance now."

"We wouldn't have taken that contract if we'd known they were your guys," Verin added. "We thought they were Black Sun, and well, there's more than a few debts to settle with those animals."

Fynta held her hand up to cut Verin off and returned her attention to Balkar. "I'll send you the coordinates to the body." She typed in the location on the keyboard attached to the holo. Balkar looked to the left and snatched his datapad. "I'll see what I can do for your sister. Give me twenty-four hours." Then, he cut the call.

When Fynta faced the rest of the room, Jorgan saw exhaustion finally settle over his wife. "Get some rest. In twelve hours, we get Cinlat back."


	7. Bond of Blood

**A/N:** Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed this little ficlet. I'm sure I'll find reasons to bring Cinlat back in the future, and maybe I'll even be nice to her next time. :D

 **Bond of Blood**

* * *

 **Residential Sector**  
 **Apartment 215  
** **(Day Eight: Twelve hours in Imperial custody)**

Balic drummed his fingers on the counter and tried not to look at the door to the commander's room. They'd disappeared twenty minutes ago, and still no yelling. There was another option apart from arguing, of course, and he hoped that was the one they'd chosen. Verin had claimed the 'fresher around the time that Jorgan corralled Fynta, and the bounty hunter hadn't emerged either.

Naturally, that left Balic and Elara with the rest of the apartment to themselves. Where was his wife? With her nose buried in a datapad, of course. Not that Balic had any shenanigans in mind, but it would be nice to have a conversation with her.

Given that Cormac's talents lie neither in research, slicing, or interpersonal relationships, he found himself bored. He'd rummaged around for food and came up empty, then explored the weapons caches. Fynta's family had some interesting pieces on display, but they only held his attention for a short time.

Cormac had just started spinning his ring on the counter when Elara swore. The oath took him so much by surprise, that when he slapped his hand down to stop his game, it shot across the room. Balic winced, then checked to see if his wife had noticed.

Elara's gaze remained fixed on the screen in her hands. The horrified expression on her face made Cormac forget about the errant piece of jewelry as he slid from the stool to see what had her so upset. When Cormac leaned over the back of the couch to read the datapad, Elara barely registered his presence. "What's up, doll?" The words on her screen coalesced into a prisoner transfer, and he didn't like the direction it was heading. "Elara, is that—"

"Balic, this is bad," Elara answered, rising to her feet in a rush. "I have to speak to Fynta."

 **17:30**

Jorgan watched Fynta pace the perimeter of their room, then checked his chrono. They'd been standing in silence for fifteen minutes, but every time he spoke, she shut him down. Finally, he'd had enough and closed the gap to grab her shoulders. "Fynta—"

"Aric, I can't do this right now. One family emergency at a time." She pulled out of his hands and stomped to the window to glare at the skyline.

The lights from the building across the streets played across Fynta's face, revealing the turmoil within. These moments were rare, and only when she thought no one could see. Jorgan sighed and crossed his arms. "Fine, then strictly squad business." Fynta glanced over her shoulder warily. "Tell me about Kardan." He should have been involved in that mission, not left behind.

Fynta turned, glaring at him through the dark. She often forgot how well he could see, giving him an unobstructed view of her emotional state. Right now, she was his wife, not the commander of Havoc Squad, or a smart-assed Mandalorian.

Fynta closed her eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing both hands down her face. "Remember Fuse? They stuck him in the SIS to help track down the rest of those bomb designs."

"How could I forget," Jorgan responded. "I voted to end him."

Fynta snorted a humorless laugh. "I should have listened to you. That's where we found Kardan. And Verin—" she sighed, "I intended to take him alive, but Verin held a grudge."

A chuckle escaped Jorgan's lips before he could stop it. " _You_ gave Verin the black eye."

With a small smile, Fynta touched her bottom lip. "We came to an understanding." When it came away, fresh blood coated her fingertips. Her lips turned down as she scowled at her hand. "I'm sorry, Aric." Fynta flopped on the bed and looked up at him. "One hell of a honeymoon, huh?"

"It'll make an interesting story for the grandkids," Aric admitted, lowering himself beside his wife. They could discuss the interrogation later, Fynta was right, one crisis at a time. He nudged her shoulder, but stopped short of slipping his arm around her when the door flew open.

"Begging your pardon sirs, but this is imperative." Given that Dorne had never barged into anywhere, both Fynta and Jorgan stood at once. The medic made no apologies, simply handed her datapad over as Balic bustled in behind her.

Fynta accepted the device, swore, then handed it to Jorgan. He read over the information, then again to ensure he hadn't missed something. Aric met Fynta's eyes. "What the hell is Cinlat doing in Shadow Town?"

 **Shadow Town  
** **19:00**

Cinlat watched the light sway above her. It was soothing, just lying still and letting herself be hypnotized by its rhythm. _Keep it together_ , the angry voice demanded. It sounded familiar and yelled from time to time while she tried to sleep. _They are coming_. Cinlat didn't really care who was coming anymore. Everything hurt, she was tired, and the man said she could finally rest. That was all that was important. But, every time she closed her eyes the voice yelled louder.

 _Stay awake! Don't be such a_ _hut'uun_ _!_

Cinlat couldn't remember why the word made her angry, stirring her instinct to fight. Only that she felt a desire to find whoever had delivered her here and—shab, who knew the SIS could hold such a grudge?

It was a moment of clarity that Cinlat didn't want. The SIS had _lost_ her transfer papers and shipped her to Shadow Town. That was all that mattered. Of course, the Imps didn't like her much either. She'd helped foil Rakton's plans, killed Darth Tomen, and refused to attack Republic troops. Cinlat had signed her own death warrant years ago, but in that moment, she didn't want to die. How was Verin supposed to find her even if he was aware of her current location? Shadow Town was huge.

The floor vibrated; it tickled under Cinlat's ribs. People screamed, and she could make out blaster fire. _So, you remember the sound of blaster fire, good,_ the voice whispered. When the room shook again, it was accompanied by the shattering of her cell door.

 _Run. Fight. Survive_.

But, Cinlat's body wouldn't respond. Her mind cleared long enough to see heavy boots, followed by a familiar looking helmet. Mandalorian, but not Verin's. "Easy, Cinlat. You're going home."

The voice was muffled through the filters of his helmet, but clear enough to be sure that it definitely wasn't Verin, no matter how much she wished him to be. The man lifted her like a child, cradling her against his chest plate. Cinlat bounced in his arms as they ran, and she focused on the sounds of his steps echoing off the walls.

"Fynta, I've got her. Heading back to the Thunderclap."

 _Fyn'ika_ , her little sister. Maybe she was saved after all. _How embarrassing_ , the voice commented, then everything went silent.

 **19:56**

" _Meet us on my ship. The Mantis has been locked down_." From the bounce in Fynta's voice, Verin assumed that she was running. The blaster fire in the background confirmed his hypothesis.

"Is she alive?" Verin asked, redirecting the taxi driver by pointing to the pictograph of the spaceport. He didn't have time to deal with the language barrier on this moment.

" _She is_ ," Aric answered. " _We are en route_."

The silence stretched on, and Verin didn't like the way it thickened in the back of his throat. _"Just get here,"_ Fynta snapped before cutting the comms.

The taxi stopped in front of the spaceport, and Verin darted through the terminals. An astromech chirped angrily as he rushed through the hangar leading to Fynta's ship. The loading ramp rested against the floor, and Balic stood guard at the bottom. When he saw Verin, the big man directed him inside. "Medbay, take a left, then another left."

Aric and Fynta stood outside the door while Elara dug through cabinets and rushed back out of sight. Verin braced himself for the worst, but Cinlat looked fine. Other than a few bruises, she still had all her fingers and toes, and there were only a couple of shallow discolorations on her ribs. Even so, Cinlat laid on the bed with her eyes closed, breathing slow and even. All her armor had been placed on one of the benches in the main room. He couldn't understand the urgency Elara seemed to feel.

Elara frowned at the readout on one of the machines. "Not cardion," she stated. "Doesn't test positive for any type of stim, either. Perhaps a variation of Spice?"

Those were drugs, the kind that altered the body and mind. Suddenly, Cinlat's peaceful sleeping seemed a lot more sinister. He moved to the opposite side of the table and took her hand while Aric squeezed in with more vials for Elara. "Riduur, its Verin. Can you hear me?"

 **The Thunderclap**

Verin stood at the head of the bed stroking Cinlat's hair while Dorne ran tests. Fynta watched from the doorway, wondering if Verin had realized yet that his wife was unresponsive. Cormac rapped on the back of her armor, startling her from her thoughts. "Boss, Balkar's here." He kept his voice low, casting a quick glance at the scene in the medbay, before nodding towards the exit.

"Fierfek." An SIS agent was the last thing Fynta needed to deal with right now, but if Balkar had the gett'se to show his face, she'd certainly make time for him. "Cormac, stand guard, help if Dorne needs you."

Jorgan fell in beside Fynta without a word. Jonas Balkar waited at the bottom of the ramp, arms crossed and leaning against the hydraulic piston that raised it. "I could lift it, just a little," Aric muttered.

Fynta considered letting Jorgan have his fun, but held her hand up to forestall him. "Now's not a good time, Balkar."

"That's what Sergeant Cormac said." Balkar didn't smile or wink this time. "Something about it being a family matter?"

Fynta didn't like the easy way with which Balkar examined his fingernails, or the tightness in his voice. It reminded her of their mission on Nar Shaddaa when he questioned Fynta about her motives with the M1-4X droid. "My squad is my family," she answered, making no move to descend to his level.

Balkar pushed off of the piston and sighed. "How is she?"

Fynta should have known he'd show up here. They'd blown the doors off an Imperial building, and Fynta had tripped a security protocol in her haste to slice into the blueprints of the compound. They'd made a mess of things, and Balkar was here to see if it was worth the cleanup. Or, if he should haul Fynta's ass back to prison.

"She's alive," Fynta answered at last. "They drugged her with something we haven't seen before. She's completely shut down."

Balkar put his hands on his hips and took another step. It was the closest he'd ever come to an attempt at intimidation. Fynta gave Jorgan a glance that warned him to stay put, and closed the gap between her and the SIS agent. When they were toe to toe, she glared into Balkar's clear, blue eyes, and saw only anger. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm going to be in over all of this, Fynta?"

Fynta reacted before she considered the consequences. She didn't remember pulling back or swinging. Only the ache in her knuckles when they cracked against Balkar's jaw. "Shadow Town!" She shouted as he staggered from the shock of her blow.

Jorgan grabbed Fynta's arm when she took another step towards Balkar. "Your people put her in _Shadow Town_. Do you have any idea what goes on in there?" She yanked free of Jorgan's grasp and shoved Balkar again. "I don't _care_ how much trouble you'll be in. I'd do it again." Jorgan didn't fully release Fynta until she got her breathing under control. Shab, she was starting to lose it on this one.

Balkar rubbed his jaw and forced a laugh. "That's one hell of a punch, doll." He probably had pain reduction implants, most field agents did. He looked at Jorgan for a moment, then back at Fynta. "I know we screwed this one up. Cinlat might not be innocent, but she was under _my_ charge, and I don't like how this is going to look on my record." Fynta snorted and crossed her arms.

Balkar rubbed the back of his neck and nodded as if he knew he'd already worn out his welcome. As the agent turned away, he paused. "We retrieved Kardan's body, by the way, and I informed General Garza about the mission's conclusion. I, uh, may have left out a few details."

Fynta wanted to feel guilty for the punch, but couldn't find it in her. She glared at the back of Balkar's head in silence. "I might have some people who can help if your brother will let them," Balkar continued, still facing the exit. "We've been watching the Imps, and they have some unpleasant new toys. Things that we've developed antidotes for."

It took longer than it should have for Balkar's statement to truly sink in. Was this a peace offering, some way to apologize? Logic finally pushed its way to the surface, and Fynta realized that Balkar didn't owe her a damn thing. She softened her features with some effort and cleared her throat. "I'll talk to Verin."

Balkar sent a wink over his shoulder, his flirty persona slipping back into place. "You're a good woman, Fynta. I'll make sure this stays off the books, for old time's sake."

"Take care of yourself," Fynta called after Balkar.

The SIS agent waved a hand over his shoulder. "Don't let her do anything stupid, Captain."

Jorgan snorted. "Yeah, right."

 **Residential Sector  
** **Apartment 215  
** **02:00**

With Verin and Cinlat squared away in a SIS safe house, Fynta and Jorgan returned home. Balkar swore that only a handful of agents knew about, all of them on his personal payroll. Cinlat had regained consciousness within hours of administering the antidote, and Verin hoped that they'd be able to sneak back aboard the Mantis within a week.

Fuse had been taken into custody, and while Balkar wouldn't comment on what the punishment would be this time, he assured Fynta that it would be decidedly more permanent. Meanwhile, Cormac and Dorne had rented a hotel room, and Cormac swore he was removing her from his comms list for the next five days.

Fynta should be relaxing in her apartment, enjoying the next few days knowing that her aliit was safe again. Instead, she'd been avoiding her husband. Fynta read her datapad in front of the window in the sitting room because Aric was in their bedroom, and Fynta didn't want to face him. She'd been an effective interrogator back in her days with Epoch, but Fynta feared what she'd see if she looked into Aric's eyes.

Fynta's datapad chirped with a message from Notiac:

 _It was a pleasure to be able to aid in freeing your sister from the Imperials. I am all too familiar with their tactics. As an intermediator, I've worked with all sorts, but your family presented a unique experience. I feel our paths will cross again. Be well, Major._

Fynta had been so engrossed in Notiac's message, after all, it wasn't often that she made a good impression on a Force user, that she hadn't noticed when Jorgan came up behind her. "Congratulations," he whispered over her shoulder. Carefully, he plucked the datapad from her hands. "Fynta, you've been avoiding me."

The accusation in her husband's voice was enough to force Fynta to finally face him. "Have you ever tortured anyone, Aric?"

"No." Jorgan set the datapad on the counter, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"It eats away at you," Fynta continued. Once the words started, she couldn't stop them. She paced across the room, counting her steps, then turning on the seventh. "You can't think of them as a person, because then it's too awful to bare and people die. You can think past results and whatever is required to get those results." Fynta started her third pass, glaring angrily at the floor. "I did those things. I pried intel from unwilling prisoners in order to save fellow soldiers. I never enjoyed it, and I hated myself. But I had to, and damn it, I—"

"I know," Jorgan replied. Against all reason, he still loved her. Aric wasn't appalled or angry, he just accepted that sometimes good people did bad things. And shab, Fynta tried so hard to be a good person.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Fynta buried her face in Aric's shirt and inhaled his calming, woodsy scent. His arms tightened around her, and Fynta felt the vibrations in his chest when he spoke again. "Let's lock the doors and turn off the comms for the next few days."

Fynta laughed in earnest, a weight lifting from her chest as her arms encircled his waist. "That sounds like a fantastic idea."

* * *

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